


My Last Goodbye

by Jennifandom13



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:19:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennifandom13/pseuds/Jennifandom13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you haven't seen The Last Vow yet, do not read this. It is a slightly out of order chunk from the end of the episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Last Goodbye

I breathed in deeply as I closed my eyes. This was it. I had been preparing for this moment for months, nearly a full year. I set my jaw and squared my shoulders. I heard the man leave the car behind me. I opened my eyes and turned around. Then it happened. The look in his eye matched the intent in mine. The final step in the sequence was only seconds away.  
"Since this may be my very last conversation with John Watson, may we have a moment?" A nod, and they all left us. We stood feet away. My chest tightened as I looked him over.  
"So, what now?" a faint tremor laced his speech. He shuffled his feet like he does whenever he wants to deny what is happening around him.  
"John, this may be my last chance to say this..." I faltered. His gaze had traveled to the group that left us. Mary. Always Mary. I couldn't do it.  
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," was all I managed to force out. Hmm, now we're both defrocked. Ah the Woman. Traces of her always in my mind. If only I were so daring as she.  
"Sorry, what?" He looked taken aback. His eyes asked why I hadn't said what we both wanted to. I couldn't answer. I averted my gaze.  
"That's the whole of it. My name. If you need baby names." Stupid stupid idiot.  
"I don't think that will work out. We got a scan. Pretty sure it's a girl." Oh. A girl. I hadn't expected that. Though really they are slightly more likely.  
"Well, Sherlock is a girl name."  
"I am not naming my daughter after you." Even though he said it with a laugh, it cut me to the quick. Of course he wont name his child after me. Why would he continue the legacy of a murderer? Murderer. Yes, I suppose that is one thing to call myself now. The one thing I vowed never to become. I did it for John, and I am to lose him because of it. Of course I will no longer be a part of his life.  
"Ah well. Worth a try." Yes. Worth trying to express myself. If only I wasn't so daft I might actually be able to accomplish this task. But this is my last opportunity. 6 months from now, I will be dead. And this one I wont be able to come back from. There he goes looking after Mary again. No. I will not say it.  
"The East Wind takes us all in the end." Bittersweet now. The plague of my childhood form Mycroft now a relief from this agony.  
"What was that?"  
"It was a story Mycroft told me when I was a child. The East Wind comes and destroys and picks out the most undeserving persons and takes them away. Which of course was usually me. He was always a rubbish big brother after all."  
"Wh-where are you going?"  
"Some undercover work in Eastern Europe." Oh John.  
"For how long?" He looked so hopeful. Why had things ever changed. So much unnecessary strife. Caring really is not an advantage. Why I have ever bothered with it, I do not know.  
"6 months.." I wanted to tell him so badly what would happen. That this was really the ending. No tricks this time. Just over.  
"And then what?" I can't tell him. I can't do that to John again.  
"Then...I don't know." I couldn't look at him now either. Christ this was harder than it ought to be.  
"I guess the game is over then." No, not like this.  
"The game is never over John. There are only different players." He might figure that out someday. I am no longer a player in the game. At least not where it concerns John Hamish Watson. I kept my vow. He and Mary and their daughter are safe. No point in me anymore. I struck out my hand.  
"To the best of times, John." I stared him dead in the eyes. My own were watering despite my best efforts. His own soon filled. He got himself together enough to shake my hand then. We looked at each other like that for what seemed like ages. The plane behind me no longer represented freedom or a cure for boredom, as planes normally do. Now it was a death sentence, to be carried out by my own brother. Break your heart? I don't think so Mycroft. Although rest assured, mine has been sundered to a state from which it cannot be healed. Goodbye John Watson. My Blogger. I am lost without you.


End file.
